300

Many moons passed, many a setting sun
till he chose to sail with his only son:
[Pardon the ease of my rhyme, the Heart's breeze
rustles inside my mind, beneath my brees.]
"I was homesick at nights, seasick at home,
for my home is sea, the sea is my home;
my wife's brood is my blood, my blood her brood;
each restless night 'fore the beach we would brood:
And I saw the sea in him, heard its roar;
in the tides of his eyes, the waves did soar.
So we set off for Knoll-land, sailed on course
till green hills flashed in front like broken doors:
As I hurled up the seas that churned in me,
my son carved his name in the beechen tree." 
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